


and the wolves all cry

by naimeria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gore, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, goretober, the relationships tagged will be explored throughout the month, there's gonna be a lot of pain guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>to fill the night with hollering<br/>when your eyes are red<br/>and emptiness is all you know<br/>with the darkness fed<br/>i will be your scarecrow</p><p>(the goretober challenge from tumblr is an art challenge, but I'm gonna tackle it with words instead. each chapter will be titled with that day's challenge and will be it's own drabble. as the tags and challenge title implies, there's a lot of bloodshed in these drabbles. proceed with caution if excessive gore or violence is triggering.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the wolves all cry

Twice in number, twice as vicious. The pack’s head is a brute of a man, reminiscent of the twins’ at their full potential, and he throws Liam like he weighs nothing. Scott’s roar rings too loud even in his own ears, and the alpha winces before turning his red-eyed stare.

Malia drags Liam behind Scott’s defenses, and the beta is conscious enough to touch Stiles’ leg while he’s sprawled in the grass, sucking some of the pain out of his broken wrist. Scott gives himself a glance to his pack, one look to settle his nerves, before he’s crouched, claws biting into the grass. He’ll hold this line as long as he’s breathing. They’re not being touched again.

The alpha’s arm is held aloft, as signal to his pack, chuckle appraising but mocking as he cants his head. Like a pup, he must think. Immature, naive. He doesn’t know the McCall pack, know the lengths they’ve gone. Lips curl over short fangs, of which there are plenty. Scott’s own long ones prick into his lips as he snarls, no longer boy, just violent need to  _protect._

The alpha doesn’t need to be challenged twice. His pack dutifully stays back and tends to their own wounded while the hulking man steps forward, deliberate in his advance. They’re feigning control and patience, both can smell it on the air. Diplomacy is an illusion, a way station that’ll soon give in to animalistic tendency that they always fall back to.

Predators, not killers, Derek’s voice reminds him every day, but Liam’s blood is hot and thick in his nose, Stiles’ smothered noises of pain as Malia curls over him like a loud speaker. It’s hard to remember, but he does; he’s tethered to the ideal, and even when the alpha finally lunges with a guttural roar, Scott knows he won’t kill him.

But he’ll get close if he has to.

They meet with more skin than claw, grappling for the upper hand that the larger man gains easily. Scott’s on the ground before he’s aware of being moved, but he gets in a swipe at the man’s ankles and is rewarded with a howl and blood spattered on his forehead. Claws are in his back and he’s thrown, where one of his betas is waiting with tight lips and long claws. Scott kicks her, but she’s quick, quicker than he is, and he feels the bite of claws across his face.

The unspoken rule is broken quickly. Other betas are lunging forward, five sets of claws slashing and biting: down his thigh, across the back of his shoulder, over his chest. Hands are on him before he can grapple them off, and he’s being held in place as swipe after swipe has him hissing and growling like a trapped dog, pain brightening everything into a fiery hot blur. The alpha’s watching his pack tear him to pieces, short fangs bared into a smirk, and Scott  _hates him._

Still, he fights for all he’s worth, downing two before another female beta grabs him by the nape of the neck and swipes her other hand down across it. Malia snarls as Scott’s dropped, gurgling blood into the grass.

It’s her growls followed by a high yelp and a thud that bring Scott back to consciousness, neck healed enough to where he’s not going to bleed out in his own territory, and he  _roars._ It hurts, because his throat’s a meaty mess, like the rest of him, but the alpha roars back, eyes brightening at the challenge.

It’s over quicker than he thinks. Scott’s aim, through the half-black blur that his awareness is now, holds true, and his claws go deep, deeper than their slashes did. The alpha spits at him, eyes half mast after Scott squeezes, and he remembers the feeling, knows it’s visceral pain at it’s core, and drops the man in the grass before he pulls anything out of place.

Scott can’t rise to his full height, but he doesn’t need to. The alpha’s pulse is already weak, and his betas crowd him and carry him off with a series of growls and curses. Scott doesn’t acknowledge them.

His collapse is next to Malia, head landing on her calf. Stiles is shouting to him, Liam’s heartbeat is even in unconsciousness, and Scott tries to apologize, he does, but he can’t form words anymore.

They’re safe, and they’ll heal. It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> ( _dangit ao3._ i'm est time, so technically i'm still on time.)


End file.
